Fallen Laughter

White lilies sprawled, petals crushed,

cradling dirt in their broken arms.

My cousin fell—face planting into wet earth—

quiet broke, sharp laughter slipped out.

Everyone froze, a breath caught tight,

then shoulders shook, some eyes watering,

as grief twisted and tripped over itself.

The silence shattered like spilled soil,

raw and messy, like all things real.

I held that laughter, bitter and bright,

a crooked light in the heavy dark,

reminding me sorrow can stumble,

can fall face-first and still breathe.